


A Human Lost in the Wilderness

by undersail2013



Category: Supernatural
Genre: After Season 8, Gen, Prayer, human!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-24
Updated: 2013-09-24
Packaged: 2017-12-27 12:14:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 641
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/978724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undersail2013/pseuds/undersail2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel seeks comfort in prayer</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Human Lost in the Wilderness

Father, I know I’m wasting my breath, but I’m so alone. My mind feels jumbled; I can’t hold onto so many thoughts as I once did. 

Father, your wayward son is lost in the wilderness. I am so cold, I can’t stop shivering, no matter how many clothes I wear. I remember burning with the fire of the seraph, and the memory cannot warm me. I ache: physically, mentally, emotionally. Every new exertion brings a new discomfort. I have pains in every tissue, every fiber, places that an angel in a vessel can never access. And now every human agony is mine and mine alone; I am so alone. The generous soul that shared this flesh is gone, the void only half filled by the mocking semblance of a soul of my own, the remains of my spilled grace warped into human form. Still, having seen the creature my friend became while soulless, I know enough to be grateful for even a faulty compass.

No angel ever feels truly comfortable in a vessel. We are accustomed to vastness, not the tiny universe of the human body. A mere four years of continuous habitation cannot begin to erase the sensation of being too large for my surroundings. Anna once tried to help the boys understand angels and vessels. She described it as a human trying to navigate a dollhouse. _Yes,_ I thought at the time, _that sounds about right._ And now the role is reversed; I am the doll trying to navigate the human world. I suddenly feel so small, as if I could never hope to fill this body. I am weak, powerless, utterly inadequate. 

I have dreamt. Dreams are strange. Unconscious thoughts transformed into vivid moving pictures. I have created dreamscapes; I’ve stood within them. But to feel them! To feel that they are real and not imagined. The pleasant ones are (sigh) unspeakably comforting. The bad dreams, though, the nightmares destroy me. Even hunted as I am, I can say with sincerity that there is nothing more terrifying than enduring the nightly visions of my loved ones, my flawed and perfect humans, being ripped to shreds by monsters, particularly when the monsters are my own kin. I have resisted sleep in order to avoid the horrifying scenarios that play in my head, only to experience the unique hell of sleep deprivation: the hallucinations, the headaches, my heart racing. And I don’t know if it’s the fatigue or simply being awake for more hours of the day, but my hunger gnaws at me more fiercely when I haven’t slept. Nor does succumbing to deep exhaustion guarantee any sort of peace; those are the nights when I jerk awake screaming.

Sometimes I believe that I should end it, that the Earth will be better without helpless, friendless, hopeless Castiel. I tell myself that I have only to die and I can return to Heaven, just another tiny soul, finally free of the family politics and the terrible consequences of my actions. I try to convince myself that no one would mourn me, but I know that’s not really true. Father, forgive me, but I still cling to my faith in Dean Winchester. He and his brother will bring your children home. And I want to be there when he does.

Father, any one of your children might have fallen victim to Metatron. And yet, I can’t help but be glad that it was I. I, who am most human of all the angels. I, who best understand the ways of humanity. I, who have walked with the Winchesters, lived among them, learned their ways. It could be any of your children standing here, cold, hungry, empty, and I know that the slow squeeze would kill them. Instead it was Castiel, fallen from God, the one who will survive and truly live. 


End file.
